


Perks of an Overactive Imagination

by Unforth



Series: Tumblr Ficlets: Supernatural [19]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Beekeeper Castiel (Supernatural), Cas is so done, First Dates, Gratuitous Use of Kittens, M/M, Veterinarian Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-12
Updated: 2017-05-12
Packaged: 2018-10-31 00:55:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10888518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unforth/pseuds/Unforth
Summary: Tumblr ficlet in response to the following prompt: Dean is a Veterinarian and Castiel keeps adopting/ saving cats and guinea pigs. They need a lot of medical care and Cas can hardly afford it. Can they work out an alternative payment...?





	Perks of an Overactive Imagination

**Author's Note:**

> The past few weeks, I've taken prompts for short fics and written and posted them on Tumblr. I wanted to post them on AO3 as well but have been considering how best to do so. A quick survey of my subscribers and followers suggests that people would prefer if I post them all as individual stories and put them in a series together instead of as multiple chapters on the same file or any other of several options, so that's what I'm doing.
> 
> Please note that I generally do not take "out of nowhere" prompts, cause I don't have time, but I will sometimes ask people to send me ideas and I'll write them in the order I receive them. 
> 
> You can follow me on Tumblr at [unforth-ninawaters](unforth-ninawaters.tumblr.com).
> 
> Make sure you read the prompt! 
> 
> [~original post~](http://unforth-ninawaters.tumblr.com/post/160588515763/i-just-had-a-cute-idea-dean-is-a-veterinarian-and)
> 
> Prompt, from anonymous:   
> I just had a cute idea: Dean is a Veterinarian and Castiel keeps adopting/ saving cats and guinea pigs. They need a lot of medical care and Cas can hardly afford it. Can they work out an alternative payment...? Would also work with Sam as vet and Gabriel as pet saver...

“ _Again_ , Cas?” Despite the snark in Dean’s tone and his rolled eyes, he couldn’t keep affection from his voice. Cas’ expression was so wide-eyed and earnest, importuning, as he held out the entire damn _box_  of adorable mewing kittens toward Dean. Dean could appreciate a guy who felt strongly about animals; initially that was a lot of what drew him to being a veterinarian. Heck, there was a _lot_  to appreciate about Cas.

The problem was, giving animals medical treatment cost _money_ \- especially kittens who looked to have been lost or abandoned by their mother before being weaned, at least three of whom had mange and one of whom had a flea crawling over it’s adorable button of a nose, which meant _all_  of them had fleas. Even if Dean donated his time pro bono, which he was willing to do - he volunteered his time at several local adoption agencies - the supplies, materials, medicines, _everything else_  still was expensive. Frontline didn’t grow on trees.

And Cas was flat broke.

“Please, Dean?” Cas importuned, opening his eyes _even fucking wider_.

 _Dammit, he knows I’m a total sucker for that look_. _His eyes are just fucking blue…and those cheek bones…and that fucking nose…and I could break a tooth on the cut of that jawline…and then there’s his Goddamn_ mouth _…and I just…_

“Honey doesn’t buy sutures,” grumbled Dean, reaching out for the box. 

Castiel paid him in honey, from his apiary. It usually sold for $8 a piddly little jar, pointless honey comb thingy complimentary, at the posh farmer’s markets that Cas ran booths at several days a week.

It was damn good honey.

But even so. Dean couldn’t fricken _live_  on honey, he was already getting a bit girthy around the midriff, and treating eight kittens cost a fuckton more than a couple measly jars of honey did.

One of the kittens met Dean’s eyes and mewed; he grabbed the lip of the box and tugged it to himself. The cat’s apparent gratefulness must be Dean’s imagination. As young as it was, it was likely still blind.

“I’m sorry,” Cas said. “Maybe we could…I mean…is there some _other_  way I could pay you?”

Okay, okay, maybe the kitten actually could see Dean, or at least a Dean-shaped blob, because it reached out and pawed his finger and fuck if the little bastard wasn’t absolutely adorable. The suggestive, seductive note in Cas voice, though?

That was, one hundred percent, without a doubt, Dean’s imagination.

“Just forget ‘bout it, Cas,” sighed Dean, resolving himself to the inevitable. They’d never even been on a damn date, he had no definitive proof that Cas was attempting to flirt with him, that Cas was even into men. (Though there was that one time…and he’d mentioned…and he’d worn…but those were all _stereotypes_ , far be it for Dean to make assumptions!) It didn’t matter that they weren’t a couple. Cas had Dean totally whipped. With a resigned sigh, Dean turned back toward the examination room. Bad enough that it was after hours and he’d have to eat the cost of the treatment. He might as well get started.

“But Dean…I do truly feel terrible,” said Cas, trailing after him. “I know this is expense for you, that you own and run this clinic. Maybe I could…I’ve got a nuc box I’m not using anymore, you could try your hand with some bees?” Dean grunted a discouraging noise and kicked the door open. The kitten’s paw rubbed at his hand. That was…actually kinda nice. Cute little buggers. The slap of metal on flesh spoke to Cas catching the door with an arm and continuing to follow him. _What’s he playing at_? “Or…or…I could probably barter some honey for some goods from the other producers at the market. Fresh veggies? Strawberries? Seedlings? Dried flowers? Duck eggs? Bone-in steak?”

“You’re belief that I have time to make a salad, water plants, or cook _anything_  is sorely misguided,” Dean said dryly. He stepped into an exam room and lights flickered off.

“What if I cooked them?” asked Cas.

Dean set the box of kittens down too hard on the table in his surprise; the kittens writhed against each other, mewing pathetically, and Dean felt like a huge assholes. It wasn’t _their_  fault Cas was a moocher.

“ _Time_ , Cas,” Dean repeated. Idly shoving one of the kittens back in the box, he reached behind himself and rooted through the cabinets and drawers for the supplies he’d need to do the kittens’ examinations. “Look, just forget about it, okay?”

“Right,” muttered Cas, sounding suddenly distracted. “Sorry, I’ll just…get out of your hair. Let me know if you need someone to foster them - it’s the least I can do.”

Abruptly, Cas wheeled on a heel and walked out.

“Damn right it’s the least you can do,” said Dean, lifted the first cat from the box. It blinked gummy eyes at him and Dean added conjunctivitis to the list of likely ailments the kittens suffered from. “Alright, sooner I start, sooner I finish.”

There were actually nine cats in the box, only maybe three weeks old, and Dean wasn’t optimistic about two of their chances of survival but the rest he thought should be good to go. He’d have to ask Cas where this batch came from. Every story was more wild than the one before, and it wasn’t always cats - puppies, mice, a wounded pigeon, a colt, and at least a dozen guinea pigs had been among Cas’, and therefore Dean’s, charity cases. Finding them a good home often proved as much of a challenge as treating them. Cas couldn’t keep _all_  those animals, and Dean sure had no place for more pets, nor time to care for them properly. As he examined, vaccinated, and treated each kitten in turn, he set them on the floor one by one as he finished. At least the evening passed faster watching their antics, and–

Dean frowned and pulled the needle from the ninth and last kitten. There’d be a definite sound at the front of the clinic. 

Impossible. 

It was nearly midnight. Everyone else was home.

But Dean had forgotten to lock the main door, distracted by Cas’ last-minute-before-closing arrival.

A thousand grim scenarios flashed through Dean’s head; unfortunately, he knew too well the lengths some douche bags would go to get a fix, and horse tranks were considered a good fix by people who weren’t picky and had a secret death wish. Holding the needle in his hand - there was nothing in it, and even before it had just held a rabies vaccination, but it was better than nothing - Dean quietly pushed the door of his room open and eased it shut, dulling the peeps of the kittens behind him. He stalked down the hall, reached the door leading to the reception area, took a deep breath, shoved it open…

…and nearly slammed his needle into Castiel.

“Jeeze-us, Cas,” Dean exploded. “What the fuck, man? I almost…”

Cas stared at him with that same earnest, wide-eyed expression. 

Something smelled _fantastic_.

Cas was holding a steaming pot of…something. Dark liquid parted and rippled around chunks of…who knew what…that looked appealing and smelled better.

“When I saw the lights were still on…I thought you might be hungry,” Cas explained.

“No, I’m good,” Dean lied.

His stomach growled loudly.

Cas quirked an eyebrow at him.

“Cas…look…okay, there _is_  one way you can repay me but I haven’t wanted to ask cause it feels too much like taking advantage…”

“ _Anything_ , Dean.”

 _Definitely not suggestive. Definitely not suggestive. He’s definitely_ not _suggesting what I think he’s suggesting._

“A date?” Dean forced out in a rush.

Cas quirked his eyebrow even fucking higher.

God, Dean wished he was better at reading the guy.

“Okay, sorry, bad idea, I–”

“You mean a _second_  date?” Castiel asked. Dean’s mouth dropped open. “Because I believe this beef stew with kohlrabi and celeriac root counts as our first date.”

“Oh,” said Dean, feel _monumentally_  stupid.

“So, _do_  you mean you’d like to ask me out on a second date?”

“Um. Yeah. Sure.”

“Even before knowing how our first date goes? Bold.”

“Uh…”

“I like bold men,” Cas said airily, brushing by Dean, striding down the hall, and pushing open the exam room door. A chorus of delighted mews greeted him. “Coming?”

_God…so many times, I think. Fucking hell…_

Following Cas into the room, Dean said, “Thanks, Cas.” He had no idea what he was thanking Cas for. Judging by Cas’ expression, he had no idea what he was being thanked for. Dean plopped down on the floor opposite Cas, took an offered fork, jammed it in the pot Cas had been holding, and took a bite.

“This is fuckin’ amazing,” he groaned around the mouthful.

Okay, maybe he _wasn’t_  imagining the hungry look in Cas’ eyes, directed not at the stew but at Dean’s mouth, down his chest, toward the rise at Dean’s crotch, exposed by his cross-legged expression.

A kitten flopped into Dean’s lap.

“Yeah…second date…perfect payment.”

“I look forward to it, Dean. Very much so.”

_Smooth as silk, Winchester. Smooth. as. silk._

“You know, I have a great recipe for homemade lubricant,” Castiel added casual.

Dean choked on…fuck, he didn’t even know what.

_Oh yeah, damn smooth._

“Dammit…you’ve got more cats for me to treat, don’t you…”

Dean’s imagination generated _loads_  of explanations for Cas’ answering smile.

He suspected that _all_  those explanations were true.

_Just give up already, Dean. Remember, he’s got me whipped…_

_…I wonder if he’d_ actually _be into whipping?_

_Only one way to find out…_

“So Cas…”


End file.
